Page 36 of Mister Rival

It sparks something in my chest. I have such a deep love for my folks for everything they’ve ever done for me: they helped me emotionally during those difficult years of trying to get pregnant, then later, after my bitter divorce. And I’m grateful for my daughter for being such a wonderful light when the world got really dark. She’s a good kid and I’m proud of her. Even if sometimes she doesn’t want me trying to hug and kiss her after not seeing her for just twenty-four hours.

“We need to do this more,” I say, emotion etched in my voice, coming from nowhere.

And I can’t help but feel a little guilty about my all-night sex-a-thon bender with Tristan while my daughter was here hanging out with her grandparents.

Does it make me irresponsible? I mean, what kind of mother runs off to Palm Springs and gets drunk in front of her ex-husband and practically assaults her archrival in front of all her former classmates? Then goes and slings back tequila shots at the bar like they’re going out of fashion, before letting said enemy ravage her until the sun came up? But the more I think about it, the easier it feels. The more it’s sitting okay with me. Maybe having fun and letting my hair down is just an idea I need to get used to? I mean, the world didn’t fall apart just because I had a good time last night.If anything, it only made things better.

I guess I’m just so used to not doing anything for myself other than being a busy working mom. I really have forgotten how to have fun, or that I’m allowed to.

But now there’s Tristan plaguing my thoughts, and I don’t know for the life of me how I’m ever going to get him out of my head.

Chapter Seventeen

TRISTAN

After stopping in to see my folks for an hour or two on the way home, I’m back by nightfall, and my headache is all but gone. A good gallon of water, a lap or two of the pool and a lay down does wonders for me while I try to ignore my cell phone and anything to do with the office right now. It’s rare I’d even take a day off, much less a weekend, but I guess it is still only Saturday night.

All I can think about is Ali and what we did this weekend.

We fit together like I never could have believed. And our sexy as fuck antics has me on the edge of wanting to go find her this very minute and do it all again.

It wasn’t just the sex for me. I mean, she’s a hot-blooded mama. But I’ve always admired her business ethic, the way she holds herself, her beauty and her poise. I also love the way she drives a hard bargain, and never, ever backs down.

But last night was something else entirely and it doesn’t feel like any of the other meaningless one-night stands I’ve had before.

It feels different. And it shouldn’t, because I’ve never really thought about having a woman permanently in my life, especially not Ali Archer. But after spending some time with her, the way she was just so easy to be with and how well we gelledwhen we weren’t bickering back and forth, has me wondering if we could be something more.

Do I want more? And more importantly, what does she want?

We made no plans. I kissed her for the last time and said I’d be seeing her before she left to meet her friend and pick up her daughter. She briefly mentioned letting the dust settle and us each getting our bearings.

Trouble is, I’ve had my bearings a long, long while and this ain’t my first rodeo.

But the feeling in my chest is something more, tugging at my heartstrings. The very fact that we may not get to do this now we’ve returned to our normal lives feels like a foreign concept. I know I have no claim over her whatsoever, but I want her.

I want more. She’s put a spell on me, and I’ve no fucking clue how to break it.

I almost forget I arranged to have my boys over to cook for them the next night, until Noah kindly reminds me via text early Sunday morning. I was up at a decent hour. Went for a run, grabbed a coffee at the corner cafe and caught up on the Sunday paper. Something I never do.

Joshua called me late last night to ask me how the reunion went, but I brushed over it as best I could. There’s really no point getting too far into it, especially because I want to protect Ali from it getting out. Not that my son would say anything to anyone other than his brothers, but the real estate circuit is a small world around here and everyone knows everyone. I’m sure the last thing Ali needs is speculation over our wild night together. It’s probably an unwarranted concern because Palm Springs might as well be in orbit as far as the LA property marketis concerned. But we never clarified how we’d broach anything should Gareth start shooting his mouth off about us, or anyone else that lives close by.

A very large part of me is so fucking satisfied Ali acted the way she did in front of him. I’m proud of her. I think we had everyone fooled, and had way too much fun doing it.

My cock also hasn’t let up since I left her either. He’s yearning for her too, but I need to get a grip. It was a one-night stand, I have to accept it. She’s career oriented, the same as me. It could never work. We’re too competitive.

I try to shove everything aside because my brain is doing overtime. Maybe I’ll message her after dinner just to check in.

Dinner is a simple but tasty affair. I cook spaghetti bolognese, making my mom’s special recipe meat sauce from scratch. I pair it with individual green salads and homemade garlic bread. I’m not bad in a kitchen and can throw most things together quickly and without much fuss.

“You whistling while you work, Dad?” Bradley pats me on the shoulder as he helps set the table. For once he’s not donning the usual suit and tie he wears every day, opting for dark gray slacks and a charcoal button down. I don’t think I’ve seen him in sweats or anything casual since he started in the business five years ago.

“Something like that.” It’s only then, when it’s being pointed out to me, that I realize I was whistling at all.

“The reunion was that good?” Joshua walks in behind him, plonking down a six pack of beer on the countertop. He leans back, offering us the full extent of his knowing grin. The kids know nothing about my dirty weekend away, and I’m not exactly about to tell them.

“I wouldn’t say it was good, but interesting enough.” I shrug, walking back into my expansive chef’s kitchen with an eight-burner stove and huge granite island bench that could rival anyMichelin star restaurant. It adjoins the large dining area with just a few paces.

“Interesting?” Bradley balks. “I thought you hated those kinds of gatherings?”

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